


Kintsugi

by BurnItAllDownDahling



Series: A Family Repair [5]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Flashbacks, Harm to Children, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spardacest (Devil May Cry)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 04:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21488500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurnItAllDownDahling/pseuds/BurnItAllDownDahling
Summary: "You don't want to fight," Nero says, slowly, "and you don't want your sword?"  He sounds like he can't quite believe it.Vergil is a lot less-okay than he's seemed thus far.
Relationships: Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Series: A Family Repair [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548871
Comments: 3
Kudos: 169





	Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

> No rape depicted, but allusions to past assault. One incidence of an adult striking a child.

Vergil stands on the roof of Devil May Cry, breathing.

The air is brisk with the approach of winter, the wind gentle, but moving. That helps. Being outdoors helps. Outdoors was always safe.

Though he still has to fight off a violent reaction when he hears a step behind him. Light; Nero. How does the boy always know where Vergil is? "Hey, Father," Nero says. "Can't sleep either, huh?"

Can't breathe, in a bed, naked. It's Dante whose scent surrounds him and not -- not -- He can make love to Dante but he cannot sleep beside him, not safely or without fear. 

Vergil does not say any of this.

_Every breath that you inhale is at my whim. Every morsel of nourishment that crosses your lips, I grant you from my own table, and nothing more. You're mine, and you always will be mine. You think your brother will save you? Don't be foolish, my pet. Even if he defeats me, you'll always be my slave._

Breathe.

Nero comes to stand at the railing and leans his forearms against it. "I hate insomnia," he says, glaring out at the city. He has a lesser version of Vergil's own prominent brow ridge. On Nero the frown is present, but all he has to do is smile to banish the appearance of ill humor. Vergil's smiles have been called unnerving, all his life. Oblivious to Vergil's scrutiny, the boy sighs and lays his chin on his folded arms. "I just get so restless that I can't sleep. Sometimes I have to wake up Dante and make him fight me. He gets pissed when I do it, but he says he used to get like that when he was young, too. Did you?"

Vergil realizes he has been staring at his son. He makes himself look away, at the city. "No," he says. The demon attacks had been near-constant by the time he was Nero's age. He got plenty of relief for his adolescent need to fight.

He should tell Nero this, he knows. The boy hungers for connection. Vergil should... he should try.

After a while, when it becomes clear that Vergil isn't going to say more, Nero turns to him, still leaning on the railing. He's fidgeting a little, partly out of the restlessness he's mentioned, but also something more. Finally he says, "Would you spar with me?"

Vergil flinches. Doesn't mean to. He hates showing weakness. It just happens.

"I have no sword," he says.

"Oh." Nero straightens, then hesitates. "Shit. I should've given this to you already. I just... Dante gave it to me when I was little. Sometimes when I couldn't sleep back then, I would hold it, like a teddy bear. The hilt... it smelled like you." He blushes, Vergil's son, embarrassed by his own display of weakness. Then with a deep breath, the boy holds out his right arm -- the one that is permanently anchored and armored in its demonic configuration. After a moment's concentration, it glows, and a shape as familiar as Vergil's own soul manifests in the boy's hand. Yamato, whole in its sheath. Nero's reluctance to give it up is palpable, but then he sets his jaw and presents the sword to Vergil with both hands.

Vergil stares at it, trembling.

Nero blinks. Frowns, as he realizes Vergil isn't reaching out for it.

_Trembling, as he pushes himself up with the last of his strength and stares through blurred vision at the broken remnants of the sword. Sound of Mundus' feet coming toward him, leaden vibrations signaling his doom. "How beautiful you are. So like your father. Time to begin breaking you in."_

"No," Vergil says.

"What?" Nero's frown deepens. "But it's yours."

Vergil's breath is very loud in his own ears. "No." He makes himself turn to face the city. Puts his hands on the railing. Tries to make it all look casual and graceful. Fails. He can't stop twitching.

Nero steps closer. Vergil wants to shove him away. Manages not to. That's good. That's something.

"You don't want to fight," Nero says, slowly, "and you don't want your sword?" He sounds like he can't quite believe it.

"No." Thirteen years without being allowed to say no, and now it's all he seems able to manage. "I am... There is." Deep breath. Another. "The sword is yours. Your power re-forged it, not mine."

"My power re-forged it _because I'm your son_," Nero says. Vergil can hear the tension in his voice. He's figuring out, finally, that something is very wrong, and it scares him. "But it wants _you_, now that you're back. Can't you feel that?"

He can't feel anything but the echo of cold hands on his skin --

Then the moment passes, and he breathes again, carefully. Nero deserves an answer. Seconds tick by. They feel like hours. Nero deserves to know.

"My. Demon." Deep breath. "Is. Dead."

Silence falls. Horror from the boy's direction. _Yes, welcome to where I live_, Vergil thinks, and then hates himself for his own bitterness.

"That's impossible. It's _half_ of you. How...?" Nero catches himself and looks away. Possibly without noticing that he's done so, he pulls Yamato to his chest and holds it in both hands, drawing comfort from its solidity. "God. I thought... I thought we'd get you back and everything would be fine. Dante, he tried to warn me, but..."

But Nero is fifteen. An incredibly powerful child, but a child, with a child's belief that everything will be fine if he just hits the bad guys hard enough. He deserves an explanation.

"It protected me." Deep breath. "Things that." Mundus did to him, again and again, laughing when he broke and begged for no more. "I experienced. The demon. Kept me sane." Deep breath. "But there were limits to its strength."

Nero's breathing harder himself. "The demon is _you_. You survived, why can't it?"

Vergil tries not to smile. The boy is already unnerved enough. The smile comes anyway. "Not very much of me survived, Nero. My soul is little more than the fragments I could hide away in you and Dante for safekeeping. My body has healed, but..."

But. Lost limbs ache for years afterward, he's heard. Women's bodies carry the stress-markers of pregnancy and labor for life. Flesh always remembers pain.

"You don't _know_ that it's gone." Nero shifts from foot to foot in visible agitation. "Maybe if -- "

"Nero."

" -- if you just fucking _try_ to fight, it'll come back! You nearly kicked my ass at Mallet Island!" Nero steps forward, holding out Yamato again. "Take it. If, if you just take it, maybe..."

This is as bad as anything Mundus ever did to him. Worse, because he can sense Nero's pain, too. "No, Nero."

"Why _not_?"

"What fought you at Mallet Island wasn't me. What lingers in me now, and hungers to fight, to _kill_, is not my demon." What speaks within his mind is not his demon's voice. What lingers on his skin his not his brother's touch. Who he wants to be is not who he actually is, anymore. He allows himself to look at the Yamato. It's beautiful. Has the fragment of Sparda that was in it somehow regenerated, too, along with the steel of the blade and lacquer of the sheath? He wants to know. He is afraid to know. His hands itch to take the sword. But. "If I draw that sword, what calls upon its power... might not be me."

"Well, it's not fucking _Mundus_! Dante killed the shit out of that bastard -- he's not 'banished,' he's not asleep, he's fucking dead!" Nero steps closer again. "Father, please. Your demon can't be dead. If, if you just _take_ this -- "

He grabs Vergil's hand and holds the sword forward and he's going to _force_ it into Vergil's hand, _make_ him take it, and in the back of Vergil's mind he hears Mundus laugh and in his mind's eye he sees himself drawing the blade and slicing his son in half --

There is a blank space for a moment. 

Blank spaces are bad. They mean he's not in control. He gets himself back and finds himself on the other side of the roof, braced in a defensive posture. Nero -- oh God. Nero is picking himself up from the ground. There's blood on his face, from a split lip. He stares at Vergil.

"No," Vergil says again. It has many meanings. No.

Then he is gone, no, leaping away from rooftop to (no) rooftop rather than transforming and flying off no, because no he is no and his son is no there is no no and no and no and no.

#

They find him a day later, at the cavern in the dying forest.

Dante comes in first, though Vergil can sense Nero outside, radiating anxiety like a bright, unhappy sun. "Hey," his brother says. Vergil does not look up from the fire he's made. He sits with dignity, hands resting on his knees, posture upright. Dignity is all he has left.

After a moment, Dante sighs and slouches onto the ground beside him. Dante has never had dignity. "Kid's pretty upset," Dante says. "He thinks he did something wrong."

"No." His favorite new word.

"Yeah, I know. But he doesn't believe me. He's a pissy little bitch sometimes, thanks for that." Dante sighs and leans back. "I tried to explain to him that when stuff happens that's as fucked up as what you've been through, stuff that happened over _years_, it's gonna take years to get over. Years before you feel normal, again."

Years. "That seems optimistic."

"Yeah. Well." Dante rubs a hand over his hair. "That's me, Mr. Cheerful."

Silence falls. Dante is an easy person with whom Vergil can be silent. An easy person to whom Vergil can confess. "I hit him."

Dante nods. "Also explained 'flashbacks.' He gets it, now. Mostly he's blaming himself for pushing you too hard, too fast. He knows you didn't mean it."

"I meant." Deep breath. "To kill him."

"Oh. Well, good job not doing that, then."

It's infuriating, and Vergil is grateful. By getting on his nerves, Dante distracts him from the spiraling, cannibalistic misery of his own thoughts. "Dante. You fail to comprehend. I can't... I can't be with you, or with him. I thought I could, but this proves it isn't safe."

"What, just because you've got some moldy demonic demigod ranting in your head? Come on, Verg. I thought you had a real problem."

"I cannot _fight_, Dante. Not if I can't trust myself, and not if I dare not pick up a sword. Not if I have no demonic power. That makes me... useless. Helpless." 

He has only his pride left. He will not allow his son and brother to be jeopardized by his weakness. He will stay here, and when the demons inevitably come to prey upon him, he will die as he is meant to, upon their claws.

Dante rubs a hand over the back of his head. "Yeah, okay."

Twitch. "_Okay?_"

He shrugs. "I mean, I'll just ambush you at some point. I'll tell Nero to do the same -- at random, when you're not expecting it. Then we'll see if you can fight." Vergil turns to look at him. Dante blinks. "What? You don't _really_ believe your demon's dead, do you?"

"What."

Dante frowns at him, with an expression on his face that lands somewhere between incredulity and exasperation. "You think _my_ demon wouldn't tell me, if yours was dead?" When Vergil stares at him, Dante rolls his eyes. "You're the one who woke my demon up, all those years ago. You lovingly shoved my own sword through my chest, and the monster in you called to the monster in me. _It's still calling_, Verg. The call is quiet." He sobers. "Maybe hurt. Maybe sick. But anything that survives can heal. Anything that's broken can be repaired." He shrugs. "Maybe even made stronger. Just takes time."

Vergil stares at him. Then he faces the fire again.

_Are you there?_ he calls, to his other self. He does not expect an answer. Hope isn't a thing he does. He's just covering his bases. So that Dante won't nag him, later.

_There will never be anything of you that I do not own, do not twist, do not control, my favorite._

Noise. He focuses on the silence. Minutes pass. The fire burns low. Dante yawns, beside him.

_yes_

Vergil inhales.

Dante glances at him. "Hmm?"

He should tell Dante. But. So small a voice. Did he imagine it? He's been imagining Mundus, all this time. Perhaps he's gone mad.

Hope is a kind of madness, though. 

He gets to his feet. Dante blinks as he passes, going to the door of the cavern and peering out. Nero sits on a rock not far from the entrance, knees drawn up, expression pensive. He jerks when Vergil's movement catches his attention, and then he jumps to his feet, staring at his father.

It isn't right, that he's so jumpy. Vergil crosses the space between them, aware that Dante has come to the cavern entrance to watch him. Nero swallows audibly as Vergil stops before him. Apologies are pointless when Vergil cannot promise change, going forward. He will be what he is -- a hollowed-out, weary, broken toy, with sharp edges that yet draw blood -- for a very long time.

Still. He reaches up, hesitates, and when Nero does not draw away, he cups his son's face. Runs a thumb over the boy's lip where it was split. It's healed, of course. He ignores the water that fills the boy's eyes, and the way those eyes search his face. He needs to say something. When he opens his mouth, however, he can think of no words.

Nero sets his jaw, then materializes Yamato again and holds it forth. His hand shakes just a little, making the sword rattle faintly in its sheath.

Slowly, so slowly, Vergil moves his hand from Nero's face to close around the sheath. A presence, as familiar to him as his own soul, rises at once to touch him and send power into him and welcome him. _My son_, he thinks he hears, in a voice that he has almost forgotten.

Then it's gone, and there's only his son before him.

"Tomorrow," Vergil makes himself say. "Sparring. I... have a sword, now."

Nero inhales sharply, then nods jerkily and turns away. Vergil pretends not to know that he is crying.

Dante comes to stand beside him, stretching elaborately. "Great. Can we go home, now? I'm a city boy. All this fresh air is freaking me out."

Vergil breathes deeply. The air on his tongue is... strange. Fresh, and scented lightly of pine. No taste of sulfur or bile. He feels... different. Alien to himself. He lowers Yamato to his side and it should feel familiar, but...

Maybe stronger, Dante said. Just takes time.

Maybe.

"Yes," Vergil says, letting the breath out in a sigh. "We can go home."

**Author's Note:**

> I decided on a series name! It's corny, I know, but I like it til I think of something better.


End file.
